


Spark Deep

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Spark Deep [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Death, Implied Torture, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Multi, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con References, References to Suicide, Slash, Slavery, Sparklings, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Decepticons won the war, the Autobots are slaves, and Cybertron is being rebuilt. What nobody seems to realize, however, is that something really wrong is brewing right under the Decepticons' optics. Aside from the whole slavery thing, of course... Because there is only so much abuse someone can take before losing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark Deep

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the 'war over, Decepticons winner', inspired by reading too much angsty fics. I really needed to get it out of my system, and it gave that monster.  
> Hope you'll enjoy.

They don’t grasp it at first. It takes time, and a whole lot of incidents, before most of them get only an inkling of what is really happening.

_-_-_

There is a lot of fuss around the former’s Prime’s quarters when Megatron’s first heir is born. Servants are prowling around; some come in and out to get medical supplies whenever Knockout curses and orders for something. Megatron stands at the end of the berth, watching as Optimus cries and writhes as he’s giving birth to the heir Megatron managed to force on him. His most trusted mechs – and some less trusted, like Starscream – are flanking him, exchanging jokes and talking between them, as if the mech lying spread open on the berth, vulnerable, was nothing.

It mustn’t sit well with his Lord unwilling Consort to be exposed so, and have such a private, intimate moment be witnessed by so many people, but Optimus doesn’t say anything about that. In truth, he never speaks much anymore.

He’s the Consort, but he’s a slave, just like the mechs he once commanded. He’s nothing. And though he can sometimes whisper in his Lord and Master’s audio sensors for leniency for some unruly slave, and use his body and favors as leverage, he’s given no special privileges. Still, there’s still something regal about Optimus Prime, something still unbroken.

Perhaps it’s why Megatron chose to have him give birth in front of him and his cohorts: to show them just how ordinary Optimus is really. He’s in pain, just like any other mech in such a situation.

It takes a long while for the sparkling to finally emerge, but it eventually does, after a last cry from the defeated Autobots’ leader.

After cleaning him up from all the fluids covering him and wrapping him in a thermo-regulating blanket for helping his systems adjust to being out of his Carrier’s body and control, Knockout put the newly sparked mech almost reverently into the arms of his Sire, and Soundwave can see a true, honest smile illuminating his Lord’s face as he holds the crying mechling. Megatron is a hard mech, cruel when he needs to be and violent at the most, but he’s also able to care deeply for a small number. His son is now one of them.

The bitlet looks a lot like him: small ruby optics, mostly grey plating with just details of striking red and black. The helm is more like his Carrier, though, about the only feature he shares with Optimus that Soundwave can detect at first glance.

Congratulations are given to Megatron by all those present. The Warlord gloats and smiles with victory at his offspring, showing him off with no small amount of delight. He waited long for this moment. Thrice before, Optimus was with spark. Thrice before, the sparkling died in the gestational chamber before being able to be viable.

It’s something that happens quite often with Autobots, they noticed, though they never thought too much about. Clearly, it was just further proof the blue eyed mechs were weaklings, not even able to bear a sparkling without falling to pieces.

Expect, Soundwave would muse later, it wasn’t quite true. Sparkling gestation and childbirth had never been so risky before the War…

Nobody cares too much for Optimus, while they congratulate the Sire and devote their attention to the mechling; it’s Ratchet, allowed in by being Knockout most valued assistant – and because the former Prime wanted someone friendly and trusted by him in the room, his only request that Megatron had ‘magnanimously’ granted – that helps him clean up and pushes up some pillows to allow the big mech to lie down in an half-sitting position, so he can at least get a glimpse of his offspring in the arms of other mechs.

Soundwave watches them from the corner of his optics. They don’t manifest many emotions, neither of them, but many Autobots avoid doing so when there’re Decepticons in the room with them. It’s a reflex they developed to avoid being hurt, and Soundwave sometimes thinks it’s a pity. Many of them have attractive faces, but the blankness takes away much of the interest. Ratchet and the Prime were close friends, from what Soundwave knows. He would have expected the medic to gently hug his former leader in comfort and whisper his own congratulations to him, even if he was to be punished for it later – for no one touches Optimus without permission.

However, they’re dull. They whisper between them for a klik, and the tape deck can see the medic hold the hand of the Prime and squeeze it briefly before he takes two steps back and stands quietly next to the berth, awaiting orders. A proper station for a slave.

Something isn’t quite right, but Soundwave doesn’t know what. He only realized later on.

In their presence, Optimus never ask to hold the newborn. Not even once. Perhaps it can be attributed to the fact he’s exhausted after giving birth. Perhaps he doesn’t want to give Megatron another reason to gloat by begging him for the little one, or perhaps he doesn’t want to express his feelings in public.

Results are the same. He just… watches. Rather dispassionately.

He eventually gets the sparkling when Knockout points out it must still be held near its Carrier’s spark to acclimate to this new environment. Optimus is gently pushed down to lie still on his back once again. The wrapped mechling is comfortably installed on his Carrier’s chest. Optimus’ hands stay at his sides, his optics are dim. He looks thoroughly exhausted, and after a while, seeing him so immobile and face blank, barely responsive to his calls, Megatron orders everyone out. No sense in showing off his Consort if he can’t even understand what is being said to him. Ratchet and Knockout stay behind, to take care of both Carrier and infant during the next cycles.

Soundwave salutes before leaving, ready to transmit the news of the birth and help prepare celebrations. Still, he wonders about the Prime in particular and the Autobots in general. It… doesn’t feel right, the whole thing.

In his mind, he pictures the Prime’s gentle nature and love for everything alive. Even now, at the mercy of Megatron’s whims, the Prime tries to defend the weakest members of society, with little success, but he still does, and sometimes Megatron humors him when he’s in an exceptionally good mood. Still, he acted so cold toward his own offspring…

Well, he probably was upset and overwhelmed by the birth process. He would take a more active role in the care of his sparkling later on, within limits of what Megatron allowed.

His demeanor was probably nothing.

_-_-_

Optimus and Megatron’s sparkling isn’t the first to be born in the New Age started by the Decepticons’ final victory.

Aside of rebuilding the almost dead planet, designating new cities, getting an economy back and searching for even more resources, rebuilding their race had been one of the priorities.

More often than not, it ended up with Autobot slaves getting forcefully knocked up by their masters. It was… well, expected. Decepticon warriors had lot to do, but didn’t know how to use their slaves potential. Many of them kept their slaves like pets and berth warmers rather than using them for tasks they could be suited and somehow trusted with. Use them to repopulate and nothing more, was the first idea.

Shockwave had argued the lack of logic behind such an act. Autobots were needed too in the reconstruction effort; they couldn’t all get pregnant, especially not now. There were among them scientists and engineers and construction workers and architects that could prove themselves indispensable to the success of the reconstruction. Besides, how could they even start to look for and raise sparklings when nothing was ready for their arrival?

He found allies. Soundwave wouldn’t have trusted, say, Jazz to manipulate comm. systems, but he definitely thought the mech could make himself useful by gathering and helping inventorying musical files and instruments and anything entertainment related, in the hope of reopening a Conservatory and an Opera, rather than let a couple of mechs with no actual knowledge of those things take a shot at it.

Megatron listened, approved, and Autobots were tasked with simple, non-threatening jobs with a couple of overseers to assure themselves they wouldn’t try to rebel, while the bulk of the Decepticons turned toward bigger goals and more sensitive works.

Still, many Autobots found themselves carrying on a short term. However, many lost their sparklings in the earliest stages of their term.

It was thought to be related to malnutrition and faulty systems.

So soon after the end of the war, no one was quite in full health, especially not the Autobots, who suffered through different methods of persecution before Megatron reigned in his troops and started to distribute the slaves fairly and enforced rules about mistreatment and its limits. By this point, most of the available fuel resources were given to warrior models.

The Autobots were given the bare minimum to function, sometimes more if they worked in needed domains such as construction, medicine, engineering or sciences. In those conditions, low chances of conception and miscarriages weren’t seen as unusual. If anything, it gave more weight to Shockwave’s arguments: first rebuild the fuel stocks, and then start to rebuild the population.

It didn’t mean Decepticons were discouraged to do as they pleased with their slaves.

After a couple of vorns, as the cities developed and the building started to grow and try to reach the sky, little frames could be seen carried around in their creators’ arms. Little heads with glowing ruby optics, carried by defeated and harried blue optics-wearing mechs and femmes.

Nobody could pinpoint exactly when they started to really feel unease about the sparklings, and the Autobots.

In Swindle’s case, it was when Mirage actually hit their youngling.

_-_-_

When he had been landed Mirage of all mechs, Swindle had been rather put off. It wasn’t the kind of slave he would have wanted. He had hoped to get someone like Smokescreen, who was some sort of con artist himself, or a former merchant, like Sideswipe had been rumored to be. Instead, he got the pretty-on-the-optics former Spec Ops operative.

He hadn’t known what to do with him at first, aside of, well… He had even fancied using him as the first member of a new pleasure business. Mechs had needs, after all, and brothels were found through all Cybertron before the war.

Except the fact Megatron had forbidden the opening of such places in the earlier part of his tenure as Supreme Ruler. Or at least, he forbade the opening of brothel consisting of Autobots slaves. Why exactly, it wasn’t clear. A popular theory was that Optimus had begged him not to, terrified on his former troops behalf, and that Megatron, in a rare moment of humanity or because he was drunk on power after breaking in the Prime, had granted the request.

Swindle had found himself stuck, until he noticed one day that Mirage was good at making energon mixes and was quite graceful when he moved.

Mirage was made an attendant, server and pole dancer in the first bar Swindle constructed and owned, and moved from here to several odd jobs each time Swindle got new business ideas. In a way, he had been instrumental in Swindle’s financial empire’s creation, so Swindle gave him some respect.

Still, he shared Swindle’s berth, though not of his own accord. But he was a slave, and in the end, no matter how useful he could be and prove himself in other way than as a sex toy, he still had to obey.

In the end, he gave birth to a sparkling named Scalper.

Swindle was proud of his creation, he truly was. Beautiful like his Carrier, but with his own business sense and tendencies, Scalper was a promising asset, and he liked to take him to work with him. Honestly, if every kid Mirage’s produced for him were as good, he wouldn’t mind becoming the Sire of a large family. But Mirage kept miscarrying, which was too bad.

Mirage wasn’t very demonstrative with his son, but Swindle naturally thought it was nothing. Mirage wasn’t a very sensitive mech, what’s with being a noble-born and raised mech. Besides, Swindle acknowledged that Scalper’s birth was due to a non-consensual relationship, even though Mirage no longer protested or flinched away from him when he tried to touch him or when he asked him to join him for the night. Surely by now, Mirage was over it and loved his offspring.

But then, Pathfinder arrived in their life.

If he was honest, Swindle would say he didn’t care much for the brat; he wasn’t his.

A couple of vorns ago, since Mirage had been such an obedient slave and worked so hard in the household and in the dance studio he was currently employed as an attraction and occasional teacher for anyone wanting to learn, Swindle had decided to give him a treat to recompense him. He bought him a gift in the form of another Autobot, Trailbreaker.

Mirage had been… delighted, or as close as he could be. He wasn’t seeing his former friends very often, aside of those coming in with their Masters when Swindle threw a party, and he was rarely allowed a moment with them, because Swindle didn’t saw the point. Mirage had been a little less so happy to see his old friend, and Trailbreaker had been mortified, when they had been told it was expected of them to sleep together and eventually produce a sparkling.

It wasn’t exactly uncommon to allow such things. Sometimes because it was considered a treat or a gift, and sometimes because a few slave owners had a voyeuristic tendency, Autobots were allowed to sleep with other Autobots. Sometimes, it had some unforeseen consequences.

Megatron didn’t care much about the practice, as it didn’t threaten his newly-founded Empire. If anything, it gave him more servants to lord over. And Shockwave encouraged it, within reason. He actually encouraged the temporary creation of some pairings to produce servants with specific traits inherited from their creators.

Those sparklings would eventually serves their half-siblings later on, or be sold to other Decepticons once they were old enough to work.

After ordering the two Autobots to frag, and assuring them he wouldn’t sell their precious future sparkling (which hadn’t been his goal at all, as he had simply though he could get another cheap servant he could mold at his idea), he himself had just laid back and enjoyed the spectacle.

Pathfinder was all Mirage, but painted black instead of blue.

And it was painfully clear, as Swindle watched the former noble take care of his second born, that Mirage cared more for this newborn than he ever did for Scalper.

Mirage had never held Scalper like that, so close to him, just to be sure the kid was alright. He never sang to him like he did to Pathfinder. He had never played with Scalper to the extant he did with his second born either.

Swindle noticed. At first, he was puzzled, and a bit outraged Mirage couldn’t be like that with his other creation. But then he realized he shouldn’t have been surprised; in the end, even if the relationship had been forced too, Trailbreaker was also an Autobot, and so was the little one Mirage cared so much more about. He had just hoped the faction line wouldn’t matter as much when it came to the next generation.

Scalper noticed too, how much his Carrier was devoted to his younger sibling. And, like many children would, he grew jealous. At first, he tried to gather Mirage’s attention by overachieving in classes. Mirage usually patted him on the head and told him he did well before sending him off and returning to play with Pathfinder.

Scalper tried his best. He really did. But it was never enough.

In the end, he cracked.

It happened right in front of Swindle, too. One evening cycle, as they were all gathered in the lounge to spend the time, Scalper walked on his younger sibling’s hand.

It wasn’t an accident, no. Pathfinder had been playing quietly by the couch Scalper was sitting on, reading. Mirage back was turned to them as, per Swindle’s orders; he prepared him an energon shake. Swindle himself was checking his accounts when, glancing at his creation, he saw him deliberately rise from his position, just as Pathfinder reached for a toy.

The sparkling’s cries echoed in the room, startling Mirage who immediately dropped the cube he was preparing. Turning over, he saw his youngest crying and holding his hand close to his chest. The fingers were dented and misaligned. Scalper was crouched next to him, and though he wasn’t smiling, one could sense the smugness radiating from him.

Swindle thought about intervening – Scalper’s outburst had cost him the calm and serenity he had craved so much. But before he could even say a word, Mirage had acted.

Running to his sons, he grabbed Scalper by the arm, forced him to rise and proceeded to slap him with enough force to make the youngling’s head move violently.

Twice.

He shook him a bit and released him to pick up his second born.

“Never touch my son again, you little monster, do you hear me?!”

Scalper backed away, in shock. Neither before had his Carrier raised a hand to strike him, nor did he ever raise his voice to scream at him. And now, Mirage was watching him with pure, undisguised hatred as he cradled Pathfinder in his arms, rocking him to calm him down. It was so unexpected he started crying too.

“What’s the big idea?” asked Swindle, outraged on his son behalf. Sure, the kid shouldn’t have done that, and he could understand the burst of anger and the slaps, but still, Mirage had no right calling Scalper a monster!

The former noble looked at him coldly. “Was I supposed to let him harm my sparkling?”

Swindle snorted. “Oh, come on. It’s nothing, a quick visit to the nearest medic’s office and the kid will be alright. Some roughhousing, it’s all.”

Mirage’s optics were nearly white with rage. “Oh, and I suppose it’ll be okay, right? You’re going to let him harm anyone smaller than him just because he’s angry, then?”

“He wouldn’t be so angry and irresponsible if you spend some time with him too! All you think about is Pathfinder! Scalper is your son, too!”

Mirage just looked at him in the optics, and pronounced three words in a flat tone that made Swindle shudder.

“No. He’s yours.”

And the way he looked at him, then at Scalper, made Swindle gather his son closer to him and hug him hard. “You will never raise a hand against Scalper again,” he ordered warningly.

Mirage nodded. “So I will not, Master.”

Scalper blinked, confused, and Swindle inhaled. Mirage avoided calling him that in front of the kids, usually. It was Swindle’s idea. It would have been hard to explain exactly what Mirage was in the household when Scalper was younger, and since all of Scalper’s friends had Autobots’ Carriers, the young ones had simply assumed the Carrier was always a soft-spoken, obedient ‘bot. They thought it was normal. Natural.

Swindle would have some damage control to do, but not right now.

“You will never insult him again either,” he continued.

“Yes Master,” Mirage said snidely.

“And stop being so insolent! You’re out of line!” Swindle snapped back. Mirage seemed barely concerned.

“You’ll spend more time with Scalper,” he ordered again. “It’s high time you do. As for Pathfinder, until I say so, a nurse will take care of him. Perhaps it’s time you get another brat to care about, if you’ve become so fixated with this one!”

“He’s my sparkling. I will not…” Mirage started.

Swindle’s optics flashed. “Want me to sell him?” he asked sharply.

Mirage’s change of demeanor was immediate. He froze, and his face went from angry to horrified to blank to sad in a matter of breems.

“Of course… You always take all the good things away, why should it be any different with my child?” he whispered, a single tear running down his cheek.

Swindle said nothing; Mirage’s emotional outburst was annoying to him, and he would need to keep him in check and assure himself the former noble wouldn’t try and do something stupid. Scalper was looking at the two of them with wide optics. Pathfinder was still crying.

“Carrier,” Scalper tried, “I’m sorry. I’m…”

Mirage didn’t do so much as glance at him. He just shook his head.

“… May I call a doctor to take a look at Pathfinder’s hand, Master?” he asked softly, his whole frame showing defeat. He makes for a pathetic sight, and it’s sparkwrenching for his creation.

Swindle nodded slowly. Give the brat treatment, so he would stop crying, and they could all go to berth and try to cool off. Mirage nodded and bowed deeply before walking to the door.

“Just one thing, Master,” he said, not turning back. Swindle raised an optic ridge. “You might force me to carry more of your creations. But you will never be able to force me to love them.”

With that, he left the room, and Swindle felt himself go cold.

_-_-_

Swindle didn’t talk about the incident to anyone. He tried to explain things as well as he could to Scalper, glossing over the worse parts of the slavery thing, and he didn’t do too much of a bad job, but it would never stop Scalper from knowing his Carrier didn’t love him, and had never wanted him. And it changed his relationship with his Sire, deeply.

There is now coldness around Scalper each time he and Swindle talk. In a way, Scalper blames his Sire for the lack of love of his Carrier, though he will not say it aloud. Or even understands it yet. And the worst is, Swindle still loves him and is the only one. Mirage does as ordered and spends time with his older creation, but it’s forced, and nowhere near as good as it once was. He still is jealous of Pathfinder, and at the same time, he isn’t anymore, because he now knows his younger half-brother’s life will be very different from his own, and far harder.

Scalper had to live down with an ugly truth about his family, and he spread the word among his closest friends. Some are upset, some aren’t because they already knew, having parents with a much more violent relationship, who never hid what they were. It still causes trouble behind closed doors.

Scalper now knows his Carrier doesn’t love him. And, as he explained it himself later on to Soundwave when he was asked, he might have always known. There had never been any warmth coming from Mirage, not like it did from Swindle.

His creation bond with his Carrier had always felt cold, somehow. Now he understood why.

“Query: why not suspicious of hatred before?” Soundwave asked the youngling at the end of their conversation.

Scalper bit his lip. “Well, because everyone with who I’d talked about it – my friends at school, I mean – said they felt the same thing. So we thought it was normal… But it’s not, isn’t it?”

Soundwave shuttered his optics and inhaled deeply.

_-_-_

It is only one of multiple incidents Soundwave hears about for vorns. It’s not even the worse. Mirage did just strike in defense of his Autobot-born sparkling. Others… were far more destructive.

There was that one Autobot, slave to a Seeker, who had thrown himself from the balcony of their apartment when he learned he was carrying. It was a sad story, really.

The Seeker had been ecstatic at the mere idea of being a creator; though a loyal Decepticon, he had never truly agreed with all the senseless destruction and massive extinction of lives. He was a decent sort of mech, and had his slave not been so traumatized by everything that happened to him beforehand and depressed by his lack of freedom, he might have lived a good life.

Instead, emotionally abused and broken in body and soul by previous masters and trainers, he had only wished for death. The Seeker hadn’t been overly concerned by his apathy; he had thought his slave would come around eventually, once he realized he had nothing to be worried of if he kept being obedient like he was. He was even ready to indulge and spoil him as much as possible to get him to open more to him. He had left his slave alone for a short while, just long enough to answer a call. When he came back to the main room, the slave was jumping over the railing. The Seeker leapt after him, horrified and desperate to catch him, but didn’t manage to.

After that incident, many Decepticons took measures to prevent their slaves from committing suicide. Of course, there had been some before, but it was the first time two lives were lost in such an attempt, and with their population already so low, they couldn’t risk that happening again. The Seeker eventually got another slave, the former Autobot called Bluestreak, and he treated him just as decently as he did his first slave, but watched him much more closely and forced the Praxian mech to regularly consult a medic.

Soundwave had talked to him, once.

_-_-_

“Oh, I deeply regret what happened with Prism. I should have been more wary with him.”

“Query: not angry?”

“Angry? Angry at who, exactly? It would be pointless, since… But yes, I feel angry. Not angry at him exactly, mind you, though sometimes, yes. He was carrying a new life; he should never have done that! But mostly, I’m angry at myself. I saw something was wrong, and I did nothing. I should have realized much sooner and given him help.”

“Autobots: slaves. Help: would seem unnecessary to most.”

“Well, I’m not most mechs. And I think we’ve lost enough lives already without losing more to self destruction. That’s why I’m careful with Bluestreak. Took me a while to let him wander out of my sight or let him alone at the apartment. Even now, I make quick checks, especially with the children. But Bluestreak is fine, or as fine as he can be. Of course, the fact I doesn’t rush him too much into what I want must help, and also the fact I insist for him to be ready before we try for another sparkling.”

“Slave Bluestreak: allowed to choose?”

“Well, of course. Prism had been off since the beginning, but it’s the whole carrying thing that acted like a trigger for his more self-destructive tendencies. I didn’t want a repeat of… that. So with Bluestreak, I ask him if he wants to, he says no, I stop, he says yes, I’ll end up with another bitlet. Got two, now. Moondust and Windwhisper are healthy and they love their Mama. And he loves them back well enough, in my opinion. I think I made a good choice. Besides…”

“Query: what?”

“Besides, I think its better this way. Give him the choice and let him decide by himself if he’s ready. When I see the other younglings who have the same age of my own, I can’t help but notice things. Like, my kids’ paintjob is brighter; they’re more prone to smiling, bigger and smarter too. There’s something… not quite right with the others. It isn’t apparent at first, but if you look carefully, you notice that… Well, they aren’t happy. Not really. It’s like they’re missing something. I saw a couple of younger ones looking around like if they were searching for something, before frowning and going back to play. They all do at some point, and they always look sad, except perhaps the full Autobot ones. There is a difference, and I think that actually agreeing to have them, or at least having a trusting relationship with the other parent makes that difference. They… well, I guess they use their creation bond to ask for reassurance, and they get showered in love and care. I don’t think most of the kids get that. My own get more, I’m sure of that, but it’s still not exactly right either…”

_-_-_

That whole conversation was like the final clue Soundwave missed. He saw the picture clearly after that, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

It explained so much, especially about the unhealthy sparklings that kept popping everywhere and a large amount of those unfortunate young sparks offlined at some point, never reaching adult age. Death in infancy was becoming more and more frequent, without actual cause. Now, he at least understood why, even if he couldn’t do anything to make things better.

But Soundwave just hadn’t thought it could become so much worse.

_-_-_

The worst comes when Nemesis is five vorns hold and trust into the care of a few servants and tutors, along with some of Megatron’s most trusted advisors’ sparklings. Megatron is very proud of his son and heir, he enjoys showing him off at celebration, making him walk next to him, while Optimus walk two steps behind or flank the sparkling’s other side. Megatron is arrogant and boastful. Optimus is quiet and reserved. Neither of them let the child out of their optics, though Optimus’ optics are duller than Megatron. He isn’t more demonstrative in public than the day of Nemesis’ birth. However, it might be because he’s not allowed much time with his son, especially not alone, for them to bond.

Megatron might lord over Optimus, but he’s wary of the influence he could have on their young son.

Like all high standing sparklings, Nemesis and his friends get the best available. Most of the time, they’re guarded by an old femme, one who overseen the raising of many generations of great mechs. She’s an Autobot, but she’s the best at her job. She loves sparklings and younglings, and she absolutely adores Nemesis.

It’s normal. Autobots just love kids.

So when tragedy eventually strikes, it doesn’t make any sense.

But in fact, it does, Soundwave muses later on.

Nobody is quite sure what Beta did, or how she managed to. But all at once, parents can sense their creation bonds with their offspring break and die. Megatron is in the middle of a meeting with his elite when it happens. One moment he’s speaking, the next he’s screaming bloody murder and rushing toward the doors, followed suit by Starscream and many others, including Soundwave.

It’s already too late.

When they enter the room the sparklings use as a classroom, they’re all dead. Beta sits calmly in the middle of the seven little grey corpses, a sad smile on her lips. In her arms, she’s rocking Nemesis. He could be sleeping, but his optics are dark and dead, and there are no longer touches of red and black on him.

Just the dull grey of death.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO YOU WITCH?!”

Megatron is thundering as he grabs his son’s body from the arms of his murderess, and the only reason Beta isn’t dead already is because he wasn’t armed. Nobody is during a meeting, in case tempers rise.

Next to him, Starscream is on his knees, endlessly moaning ‘nonononono’ as he cradled the broken body of the little femme he created with Perceptor.

Everybody is in shock. It’s even worse when Beta finally speaks.“I set them free.” She’s smiling, and she has no right to, not after killing eight sparklings in cold-blood, as humans used to say. “Poor treasures. They couldn’t be allowed to grow up and pollute themselves further. It wasn’t really their fault, so I made sure they wouldn’t suffer.”

She’s smiling, and it can’t get worse.

Then the Autobots arrive. Optimus, Perceptor, Ratchet and First Aid and Fireflight and a couple others that just stand outside.

They came. Of course they came. If the Sires took the death of their children badly, it must be so much harder for the Carriers, who are reputed to be more closely bonded to their offspring.

Everybody is expecting them to fall to pieces.

But they don’t look any different than before. Perceptor and First Aid seem a little unsteady, but honestly, they don’t seem to be in pain. Not serious pain, anyway. Nothing worse than they look after a rough night with their Masters, if Soundwave is honest with himself.

Beta stops smiling when she notices Optimus. She bows deeply in front of him.

“Why, Beta?” he asks softly.

“I’m sorry, my Prime. There was no other way. Can you forgive me? I’m sorry, I really am. But each passing orn, I saw them becoming more and more like them, and I couldn’t allow that. I couldn’t allow more monsters to be unleashed on our poor people. I’m sorry I failed at keeping them pure. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep them more like you.”

“Beta… They hadn’t done anything yet. There was a chance, even a small one, that they would be fine. You shouldn’t have done that,” answered the Prime with deep sadness. “You didn’t have the right to.”

“I’m sorry I displeased you my Prime. But I couldn’t just let it happen again. And again. And again… I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive my humble self.”

Optimus doesn’t answer, but his shoulders fall as if he was carrying a heavy burden.

She looks directly at Optimus just before Megatron blows her head off with a gun a guard handed him, still holding Nemesis’ little corpse close to him. He looks ready to shoot the Prime too, but seems to realize Optimus wasn’t involved in whatever plot Beta’d concocted and is rational enough not to kill him too.

Rational enough to ask the good questions.

“Did you know she was so unhinged?”

“I suspected she wasn’t fine.”

“And you let her near the sparklings?”

“You never find in yourself to listen to me when I point out a fault in your reasoning. I tried to tell you. You didn’t listen. And it isn’t my place to challenge my Master’s decisions.”

“Did she ever talk to you about her plans?”

“She never stated anything, but she kept repeating to me that Nemesis ‘would grow into a fine mech if he could be more like me’. She kept saying that of all the sparklings under her care; that she would see them grow more like their Carriers. She never once said she didn’t think it was possible. Nor did she say any of the sparklings was beyond her hopes. Nor did we. Not always.”

It’s horrible, the implications. Wary glances are exchanged. Proud Decepticons’ Sires watch their Autobot slaves with incredulity, the Autobots staying immobile and silent. Starscream forces Perceptor to look at him a moment, but the blue optics of his slave keep evading him, looking through him, and not even at the body of their daughter. And he had been so persuaded Perceptor actually cared for her…

Megatron subspaces the gun and looks at his child’s body before gently putting it into the arm of a nearby guard with a care nobody could usually associate with him. Then the storm hits. He howls in pain and rage and fury and starts to destroy everything he can.

Optimus is calm and quiet, watching impassively as his Master and Lord rages and rants, overturning the chairs and the table, screaming bloody murder. Everyone else just watches. The parents have collected their children’s bodies – or rather, the Sires have. The Autobots haven’t moved.

It’s the Prime who breaks Megatron’s display of rage and grief.

“I suppose you’ll want another one?” asks Optimus dispassionately.

Suddenly, it becomes cold all over again. They all stare at him, except, once again, the Autobots.

Megatron shakes his head in disbelief. “What in the Pit is wrong with you?!” Optimus cocks his head on the side, as if he was puzzled by the mere question.

“Nemesis is dead! My son is dead! OUR SON IS DEAD!!!!!” The walls are almost shaking. “AND HERE YOU ARE, CASUALLY THINKING ABOUT MAKING ANOTHER ONE TO REPLACE HIM!!!!”

Optimus nods calmly. “He is. It’s sad. But at least it was quick. And I thought it was what you would want.”

Megatron is furious, but also horrified. “Just what kind of creator are you, to speak of our son with so little pain? Don’t you love him? Don’t you feel ANYTHING?” he asks with disbelief. “You’ve changed since Nemesis’ birth, I saw it, but never in my worst nightmares did I think you were so cold. You cry each time you see one of your precious AUTOBOTS take a hit or in the arms of my mechs, but you can’t find in yourself to even shed a tear for YOUR CREATION?”

Optimus sighs deeply, and he isn’t the only one. Almost all the Autobots present do. “Megatron… you never understood, did you?”

He walks to the guard holding Nemesis’ body and gently takes it in his own arms. He smiles bitterly as he checks over the dead sparkling. “So little,” he murmurs before turning toward his Master.

“Megatron… where did you ever see a parent who loved its children? Especially if those same children are born out of rape and torture? How can we love them, when they represent all the pain and misery we endure each passing cycle?”

The Decepticon auditory is stunned. The Autobots gently retreat before they can make a move, and nobody tries to arrest them. They won’t flee. They can’t. First Aid leads the way toward a couple of stairs leading to a small private chapel. Megatron isn’t very religious, but some of his Decepticons are, and would be upset if there wasn’t at least one holy place in his palace.

The Autobots go down there sometimes. It looked like they were going to pray for the deceased once more.

Optimus is the last to go, still holding Nemesis.

“It’s your mistake, Megatron. To think you could order us how and what to feel. You can always possess our bodies, but our sparks and feelings are ours. And none of us have felt something like love for a long, long time. Not even for the children. You never gave us any reason to think you would care either way. I know a lot of your Decepticons won’t; we’re slaves, we’re possessions, the lowest caste. So why should they care what we think? I’m sorry Nemesis’ death causes you so much pain. Perhaps you’ll get a better chance with the next one.”

He bows in front of Megatron, good slave saluting his Master, before leaving.

_-_-_

Two orns before Beta’s crime, Soundwave had a long conversation with his team.

“Spark deep rejection,” simply explains Soundwave to his Cassettes at some point.

He had put together the pieces now.

Buzzsaw and Laserbeak look somber, and Ravage growls. Rumble and Frenzy don’t understand.

“I don’t understand,” whines Frenzy. “What does it have to do with anything?”

“Sparkling: result from the coupling of nanites inside Carrier body. Spark energy: essential to its development. Carrier’s spark: sends energy through special coding. Autobots: don’t send enough to their developing sparklings.”

“So that’s why so many of them miscarry?” asks Frenzy, frowning. “Well, there must be a way to force them to…”

Soundwave shakes his head.

“Negative. Spark energy transfer: tricky at best, and almost always done unconsciously.”

“So… Autobots might not be aware they’re killing their sparklings by not letting them get enough energy?” Soundwave nods. “Well, maybe we should tell them and they’ll correct that. I mean, they’re suckers about things like sparklings.”

“Don’t think it will change much if we do, bro,” mutters Rumble, as if he had realized something. “Because, well… energy transfer works by waves, often influenced by emotions, right?” Soundwave nods again. “And no matter how well you reprogram a ‘bot, you can’t change the way his spark feels, because it keeps a trace of everything that happened to him, even when memory banks are inaccessible.” He paused, thinking hard, before opening his mouth widely. “Well, frag it to the Pit… And it doesn’t stop here, does it? It also affects the creation bonds with the parents?”

Soundwave is almost proud of Rumble. If the subject wasn’t so dire, he would congratulate him.

“Rumble: right. Sparkling development: influenced by both parents love for them. Autobot slaves: don’t feel love for their sparklings. Sparkling’s growth, both physical and emotional: stunted as an effect. Conclusion: sparklings systems keep stalling in some cases. Consequences: higher chance of premature death before reaching the age of two vorns.”

“How can they not love them? They’re their sparklings!” Frenzy exclaims aloud, puzzled.

His siblings/partners in crime exchange looks.

“Yeah, but there’s also ours, and that’s the entire problem,” Ravage grouses.

Frenzy pouts. “Why so?”

He gets a data burst from everyone. About all the horrors that happened during the war, and after, when the Decepticons were high on revenge and victory, and did terrible, terrible things. Gang-rapes, tortures unspoken of, executions of loved ones before helpless witnesses, mutilations, beatings, to a scale so large Frenzy winces.

Most of it stopped in time. Once the Autobots were truly down, there was no point continuing. Now, many Autobots keep quiet because they’re afraid it will happen again. Not that Megatron plans to, unless someone is stupid enough to revolt. But there are always very sick mechs and femmes who still do those things, and Autobots have long memories.

“Ah… yeah, I see your point…”

“We all thought that, because they’re Autobots, they would simply not let anything happen to a newspark they happened to give birth to. But nobody said parents had to love their children, after all,” points out Laserbeak. “Most Autobots have become rather… numb to everything, so they can’t be hurt again. They don’t care, not always, and they don’t really love sparklings, because of, well, being forced into having them. And the kids feel it, even though they don’t know how to interpret it. Because, as most of the new generation was born to Decepticons and slaves couplings, the younglings think it’s the way it’s supposed to be. But it’s not, and once they find out…” He trailed off.

“I heard Scalper gave Swindle a hard time lately,” puts in Buzzsaw. “And it’s making Swindle frustrated, because he happens to like his kid. And right now, the kid isn’t ready to pardon him. And he might never truly do.”

“So… what does that mean?” asks Rumble, subdued.

“… that someday, it’s going to come and bit us in the aft,” said Ravage quietly. “Imagine that: a whole generation, resentful of us because they could never taste what a true creation bond felt like, and they can only watch as their Carriers fawn over pure Autobots kids. Watch, and never been part, because most Autobots will not be able to open up to them. It will not end well, mark my words.”

“Boss… is that why you never try to get Jazz or Prowl preggers yourself anymore?” ask Frenzy, hugging his boss’ leg.

Soundwave looks at him and nods. And his thoughts go to his two slaves – one for the office work, the other for entertainment – waiting for him at home, with a small doorwinged newspark in their arms. He let them breed so he could at least see them smile more. Jazz’s frozen face was just… too disturbing; too at odds with what he was, that Soundwave had relented and let him create with his former lover and friend.

It was unfair Soundwave couldn’t get the family unit he wished to, with attentive and lovely mates and musically talented, serious sparklings.

But it would be even more unfair to bring a newspark in an almost loveless life.

Perhaps someday, Jazz or Prowl will find in themselves the force to pardon him, and reciprocate some affection. Perhaps someday…

But so long as spark deep injuries remained, he knew it wouldn’t be the case.

And unlike what some would think and say, some injuries weren’t meant to be healed.


End file.
